


Defeat is an Empty Cigarette Pack

by SkirtWithAWeapon



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Headcanon, Magnolia knew she was a synth, One Shot, Other, Pre-Canon, Short One Shot, fake prequel, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 10:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11229483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkirtWithAWeapon/pseuds/SkirtWithAWeapon
Summary: MacCready had settled up with and left the Gunners, but found himself desperately searching for work and dangerously low on cigarettes.  The songbird with the wounded wing in The Third Rail had just the job to help him become established in Goodneighbor and get back onto his feet.A prequel/back story to MacCready tied in toGunsmoke and Bladesand of course,Old Embers, New Flames.





	Defeat is an Empty Cigarette Pack

 

No matter where his two feet took him in that wide wasteland of a world, MacCready found little difference in anything. Anarchist raiders? Check. Horrifically mutated, homicidal creatures? Check. Pathetic wastelanders scratching in the dirt? Check. Warm beer and passable moonshine? Check.

The other thing that never changed was that money talked, and did MacCready ever find himself in deep with that one. For months, he ground himself to the bone running with the ruthless Gunners. He thought he could just point, shoot, and listen to the caps fall into beautiful piles all around him, and keep himself disconnected from how the Gunners were managed, what they actually _did_ , but that would not be the case.

The more he tried to keep his distance, the further he sunk into the despair that his wife had been brutally ripped to shreds by feral ghouls, and their surviving son had come down with an incurable disease. On top of that, the pay was never nearly as good as promised, and he began to realize the Gunners were really just thugs in uniforms. They’d deduct hundreds of caps for ammo and kit, even if he bought or stole some of his own bullets on the side. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he used all the caps he’d ever acquired working for them and cashed himself out, to leave for good.

MacCready did _not_ leave debts, even if the scumbags deserved it. No, he wanted a clean break, to be free from them completely, even if it meant he’d leave with empty pockets.

He wandered for several days after his release, hoping to pick up some easy, caps-up-front jobs along the road, but the caravans were never hiring and none of the settlements were interested. The larger ones had their own defenses, and the smaller ones couldn’t even fathom to afford a mercenary. Over and over he was turned down and out to pound the pavement once again.

Night time was the most difficult. He thought he would rest much easier since leaving the Gunners, but with that imposing demon exorcised for good, the other demons that had been crushed down began to bloom back to life. He’d settle somewhere for the night, never choosing to travel after dark, only to be plagued with reminders of the loss of Lucy, the illness of his toddler son, Duncan, and how he’d struggled for the better part of a year only to be worse off than he began.

It truly started to seem hopeless. MacCready wasn’t an optimist by any stretch but he believed in cause and effect: work hard, get paid. Remain persistent, gain results. Yet, neither of those things had panned out for him in recent years, and definitely not recently.

He had to face that he was struggling, and this time, he might not break through. It could finally be time to pack up and go home, make his son comfortable, and let the universe have this one.

 _“Don’t you fucking dare, Robert J. MacCready. Don’t you_ dare _give up on our son! You’re a selfish son of a bitch but I ain’t never known you to quit on those you care about,”_ chirped Lucy’s voice in his mind, late one night as he stared out a ruined window up into the clear night sky, while he considered throwing in the towel.

He knew she was right. He still had time to secure that cure, he just had to keep trying. _Besides, I’ve still got half a pack of smokes. So, it’s not all bad._

The next evening, as it was starting to get dark, it began to rain. Not only was night falling, but it was pouring, to boot, his two most unfavourable conditions. On top of that, he got turned around in the downtown aiming for Diamond City and somehow ended up in Goodneighbor. Daisy directed him towards The Third Rail and within moments he was sliding onto a stool at the bar, dripping sordidly to the floor, and ordering a beer. He was down to his last ten caps and his last two cigarettes. Whitechapel Charlie whirred and muttered something in a cockney accent before plunking the bottle down in front of him. MacCready paid for the beer and sipped it, taking in the scene.

“…must be some kind of lone gun, wandered into town,” someone was uttering behind him.

“Who, Tom Thumb up there? Looks like he can barely handle the weight of that thing. I bet it’s for show. He’s probably just some lost scavver,” was the response.

MacCready froze, immediately sure the barflies were talking about him. Water was still dripping down his face and off his goatee. He swiped it off, then swivelled on the ancient stool to face the gossiping patrons and offered a slow clap. “So very, very clever!” he drawled sarcastically. “Tom Thumb? I’ve never heard _that_ before. Oh, are you drinking that?”

The ghoul holding a drink looked at the beer in his hand, then back at MacCready. “What? Yeah – SHIT!!” he shrieked as the bottle shattered in his hand and the bullet embedded itself into the back of the couch. His companion frantically stood and began brushing broken glass off her shirt. MacCready swivelled back around and took another swig of his beer. He reached in his pocket for his cigarettes only to pull out the soggy pack and find that the smokes were too waterlogged to light. He tossed them onto the bar with a sad splat, dismayed.

It had happened. MacCready had completely run out of cigarettes.

The world had ended.

The sound of a pistol becoming cocked behind his head caused him to freeze, once again. “Now, I know you’re new around here and all, and Goodneighbor is pretty relaxed about a lot of things – but I’m gonna have to ask you not to shoot your gun off in my bar,” threatened a deep voice.

MacCready raised his hands, without turning. “Maybe people shouldn’t shoot their mouths off in your bar, then, either.”

“Now that is quite enough,” chimed a woman’s voice. MacCready felt the gun lift off his head and he lowered his hands. He turned to see that the man who threatened him was the ghoul bouncer in a tux who had been at the top of the stairs, and the woman had raven-black hair to her shoulders and a shimmering red dress. “There weren’t no harm done, Hamm, just a bit of a dust up. The man _was_ provoked, after all.”

MacCready gave a bratty little nod in affirmation.

“Magnolia, why don’t you stick to singin’, and leave me to the managin’, all right?” Hamm replied, though he holstered his pistol and made his way back to the stairs. MacCready turned back to his beer a second time when a full, dry pack of cigarettes flopped next to the bottle.

“What’s that?” he pointed.

“Those? Oh, honey, I’m _sure_ I saw you drop them on your way in,” Magnolia replied with a slight smile. She sashayed her way across the room to the microphone, cued up her accompaniment, and began to sing.

He picked up the cigarettes and popped the pack open. Twenty perfect little tubes were revealed to him. MacCready’s fingers twitched in desire but he forced himself to close the pack and push it away from him. Instead, he signalled for another beer.

Magnolia sang three songs to paltry applause and stepped off the stage for a quick break. MacCready made eye contact and a small nod to beckon her over. She raised an eyebrow and approached him.

“Let me guess, you didn’t like my songs?” she cooed, leaning against the bar rather than sitting up onto a stool.

“Not at all,” MacCready replied, then held the cigarettes out to her. “I just can’t take these. I don’t give gifts, which means I also don’t take them, either.”

Magnolia looked at the cigarettes, then back up to MacCready. “Aren’t you a character?” she murmured. “Can’t say I’ve ever had someone try to give me something back. I saw your…dilemma, and wanted you to have them.”

“And I’m telling you, thanks, but no thanks,” he insisted, wagging the cigarette pack.

Magnolia smirked, and pushed his hand holding the cigarettes back towards him. “Fine. If you must, consider it a payment for finally getting that guy to shut up.” She tilted her head to the side, indicating the couch behind them. “He’s been heckling everyone and everything down here for weeks. Never had a single nice thing to say, not once. Now he’ll think twice before opening his mouth.”

“At least for the rest ah’ the night,” Charlie buzzed from behind the bar.

It was a weak exchange, in MacCready’s eyes. He didn’t want to set a precedent of accepting barter instead of caps. He’d also had a terrible day, scurrying out in the dump that was downtown Boston only to be caught in the pouring rain, and his own smokes were goners.

_To hell with it. I’m a freelancer, now, I can make my own rules._

He shrugged his response, hoping he played it off cool, popped up one of those pristine little sticks, and went looking for his lighter.

“Ah’right, mate,” Charlie buzzed, holding out a flame he procured from one of his many tools.

“Oh. Well, uh, _cheers_.” MacCready leaned forward and lit up. The taste and sensation of the smoke filling his lungs was instant comfort. Charlie reached under the bar and placed a glass in front of Magnolia, then poured in a couple shots of vodka.

“Thank you, darling,” she purred to the robot.

They sat quietly for a moment or two, MacCready savouring the cigarette as much as possible. “You know,” he began, “I could use some work, if you know of any. For caps, mind you. A man’s gotta eat.”

“Eatin’s you can do elsewhere, chum,” Charlie replied immediately, his digital voice taking on an irked tone. “This here’s a _drinkin’_ establishment.”

“Settle down, Charlie,” Magnolia purred, turning her attention back to MacCready. “What sort of work, hon?”

“Anything appropriate for a freelance gun for hire, really,” Mac answered in a confident tone. “And it has to pay up front,” he added.

Magnolia exchanged a look with Charlie, that is, as much as a robot with three ocular sensors could express. “What do you think?”

“He’s a relative nobody without an ‘istory, and snap deadly with that rifle. I’d say he’s as best a candidate to perfect you’re ever gonna find.”

Magnolia turned to face MacCready once more. “Bring your drink and follow me.” She stepped away from the bar and began to approach a hallway with the letters VIP lit up in neon.

“Uh, Magnolia, was it?” MacCready called after her, remaining a couple paces behind, “I’m a hired _bodyguard,_ not a hired…body,” he finished, awkwardly.

A peal of laughter erupted from Magnolia as she waved him to keep following. “If you were, hon, I’d have to consider you competition, hmm? No, it’s just quieter back here, away from all the ears, if you will.”

He blushed slightly at being corrected but said no more. Magnolia gestured towards a chair and took a seat on an opposing sofa. She paused for a moment, as though collecting her thoughts. Finally, she took a hearty swallow of her vodka before delicately placing it onto the nearby end table.

“Are you the sort to ask a lot of questions?” she launched.

MacCready’s face cracked into a haughty smile. “Lady, the only question I ever ask is if you can pay me more money than your offering. I’m a professional. You give me a job, and I make sure it gets done. Win-win, and then that’s that. What have you got for me, a stalker ex? A jealous rival?”

Magnolia nodded, seemingly satisfied with his response. She crossed her legs and leaned back to drape her arm across the back of the sofa. “There is someone, a rival, as you say. I’ve been trying to track her for a few months, now, but Goodneighbor isn’t exactly on the regular caravan routes, and, well…” Magnolia smirked and gestured towards her body. “I don’t quite look as though I’d be the best candidate to go wandering the dangerous, nuclear wasteland, on a man hunt.”

“That’s why you pay professionals like me to handle business like that,” MacCready replied confidently. “Do you have any leads, at all? Any idea where to start looking?”

“Last I heard, she was holed up in an abandoned camping park, north, or northwest, of here.”

“I’ll find it. What do you want me to do when I find her? Bring her back here, to you, or just pluck her existence off the face of the Earth?”

Magnolia’s face clouded. “She cannot be allowed to live. That woman, she is a threat to the rest of us who aren’t so handy with guns and weapons, you understand. She has caused me nothing but stress and anger since –“

MacCready raised a hand to stop Magnolia from continuing. He stretched across to the same end table she had used to rest her empty glass and tapped out his spent cigarette into the ashtray. “I don’t need to know why. Now, is she is working alone, or part of a gang or even just a posse?”

“She’ll be alone. She may still be on the move. As I said, I’ve had a hell of a time trying to keep track of her whereabouts.”

“My rate is one hundred caps. If you want me to take the job, you pay me now, and I get right to work.”

“Splendid,” Magnolia sighed, sounding relieved. “You have no idea how much of a burden you are lifting off my shoulders. Stick around the Rail for the rest of my set, and I’ll get your caps at the end of the night. I shouldn’t really leave my audience in the middle of a show, after all.”

MacCready scoffed. _Some audience. Most of them are so drugged out they have no idea where they are, let alone what’s going on._ “Sure,” he replied instead, “whatever you say.”

She made her way to the door, then paused to give him a flirtatious wink. “And by the way, darling, I doubt you’d ever have to make someone pay for _it_ , from you.”

He blushed instantly. “Aheh,” he chuckled, “isn’t that what I should be saying to you?”

“They always do, but I make them pay, anyways.” With that, she sashayed out the door and back into the bar, proper.

MacCready slept soundly that night, for the first time in any recent memory. He awoke and nearly jumped out of bed, completely re-energized and ready to take on the job. He had purpose, once more -- another chance. Plus, a nearly-full pack of smokes. Where there were smokes, here was hope.

If he pulled off this job (and he knew he would, he was the _best_ , after all) he could earn Magnolia’s respect. If he had Magnolia’s respect, he’d probably be on good terms with the robot barkeep. Barkeeps heard _everything_. He was certain to gain steady work, then.

He spent nearly all his caps advance on ammo at Kill or Be Killed on his way out, but he didn’t have much of another option. Most of the townies carried pistols, or nothing, and he wasn’t about to try and pickpocket any of the “Neighborhood Watch”. At least, not yet. As he settled up with Daisy for some jerky and water for the road, she helped him get his bearings straight towards the campground Magnolia had referred to.

“When I get back, I owe you a drink,” he smiled, pouring on his most intense amount of charm, packing his snacks and water into his various pockets.

“I’ll be waiting, then,” was her response. MacCready couldn’t tell if she was genuine or being sarcastic. Ghoul-ified voices had an unfortunate lack of inflection. Suddenly, he was being rammed into Daisy’s counter from behind. He turned to see the ghoul he had argued with the night before and his female companion.

“Aw, geez, sorry there, brother. I guess I just didn’t see you there,” he shrugged. “Life’s gotta be tough as a small guy, eh? I’d rather be a ghoul.”

“I can shoot both your knees out, and then you’d be both,” MacCready replied, looking the ghoul dead in the eyes. It didn’t bother him that he had to tilt his head up slightly to do so. “What do you say?”

“Sebastian, _stop_ ,” begged the ghoul’s companion. She started pushing Sebastian past MacCready and further into the ruined building, but spared a moment to glare at the smoothskin merc. “You’re such a dick.”

“Why, thank you, ma’am,” MacCready tipped his hat and left the store.

The weather made for perfect traveling conditions, which suited MacCready more than fine. Daisy had indicated it would be quite a hike from Goodneighbor over to Rocky Narrows Park, and that was if he could have shot out in a straight line. It didn’t matter. He was back on track and doing what he knew how to do best.

_Nothing like the open road and a loaded weapon. Heck, I should turn that into a catchphrase._

He crossed the river, taking out from a distance some raiders that were loitering around. He gave the bodies a quick pat down before continuing, relieving them of their caps and spare ammo. Even if he didn’t use it, he could use it for barter. The weather held nicely, with hardly a cloud to be seen for miles. MacCready skirted around the ruins of CIT and Cambridge. Rumour was it had been infested with ferals as of late and he didn’t care to expend all of his ammo just for a perceived shortcut. He stopped for a break at Greygarden, trading some caps for a little fresh fruit to accompany his jerky and washed it all down with some water, but was anxious to strike out once more. He asked the robots about Rocky Narrows and was glad to hear he was close.

An hour or so later, he was staked out on a ruined off ramp, conveniently concealed by a rusted out car with a perfect view of the old campground. His sharp, unaided eyes could see two cabins still standing and a trailer. Unfortunately, they did not detect any movement.

That didn’t necessarily mean that no one was there. He’d done this many times before. Deftly and silently, he pulled out his binoculars and peered into the lenses. He slowly roved between the structures, looking for any sign of life. Sure enough, he was able to detect the slightest tendril of steam coming off a banged up pot, perched on a makeshift grill over a small cook fire. MacCready didn’t notice any sign of cultivated crops, which meant the occupant of said camp had to leave the site to forage during the day. He looked up at the sky to see the sun was firmly in the west, but not ready to set for another few hours.

That suited him just fine. He thought about creeping into the camp proper to poke around for other signs of occupancy, but decided against it. He preferred to keep his distance and monitor the area rather than risk a direct confrontation. People reacted badly to being surprised.

“She’s been on the run for a while,” Magnolia had told him. “It’s possible she has changed her hair and appearance since she, ahem, robbed me. She’s about my height, similar frame. You’re a professional, didn’t you say? I trust you and your instincts.”

 _Best damn professional there is, in these parts_ , he reassured himself. MacCready looked across the road and towards the camp once more, then made himself relatively comfortable against the ruined car and reached for his smokes. When did he even start smoking? When he was twelve, or thirteen? How did the smokes get into Little Lamplight?

 _You must be getting old, MacCready, if your memory is starting to slip like this._ He watched the tobacco smoke puff up and out into the sky, beyond his face, never to be seen again in this world.

Hours passed. MacCready regret having sold the few comics he had carried for the much-needed caps, but he found other ways to pass the time. At regular intervals he would look into the camp, checking all possible access points, watching the cook fire. It was starting to burn down to its embers. The sun was about to check out for the day, as well. He’d give it another hour before changing location and poking around the camp.

MacCready didn’t have to wait nearly that long. Within ten minutes, a wastelander appeared. Their face was shadowed by a large, floppy hat, but the figure was quite distinct. He almost thought he was looking at Magnolia in a farmer get-up. The wastelander picked into the camp, glancing around cautiously, before unloading a pack of food and other supplies near the campfire. They proceeded to stoke the embers and add some more wood, spending several minutes tending to and rebuilding the fire.

 _Jackpot._ MacCready pulled out his binoculars and peered into the camp once again. Through the help of the lenses, while cloudy and ancient, he could see his previous speculation was confirmed. The wastelander did appear to be female, and quite similar in frame and height to Magnolia. She even had dark, shoulder-length hair.

That had to be it. There was his target. It was time to strike. MacCready glanced around the immediate surroundings to the campground only to see there was very little cover to be had. The entirety of the park was visible from the off ramp, and even the road below, such that he wasn’t sure how close he could truly get without being detected.

 _You’ve been in worse situations,_ he reminded himself. MacCready tossed away his last cigarette butt and drew himself up to a crouch. Daylight was ending, which would make it easier for him to creep towards the camp without being seen, despite all the wide and open spaces surrounding it. Soon the only sources of light would be that very cooking fire, and the stars above.

He’d have to move quickly. If he lost the twilight, he’d have to wait until daylight, or attempt some kind of assassination by firelight. Low lighting meant increased inaccuracy, and he hated wasting ammo.

No, he was better than that. Time to go.

MacCready pushed the cigarettes into a pocket, picked up his rifle, and stole away past the junked car and down the off ramp, towards the road, then slowly poked his way up the embankment towards the camp. He was halfway up the hill when he pulled himself behind a rock and listened much more closely.

The woman was _singing._ Worse, she was singing the very songs Magnolia had performed the night before in the Rail. What could that mean?

MacCready shook his head to clear it. It didn’t matter. Magnolia had pegged her as a rival and paid him what he had asked to take her out. _She probably just wanted to eliminate any kind of copycat competition. Sounds old school, really._

He peered around the rock and up the hill. From where he crouched, he had a pure sightline to the cooking fire. The woman was going back and forth between processing some ingredients, and tossing them into the pot, singing all the while. MacCready felt resoundingly undetected. He steadied his rifle, studying her routine for a few moments more, then fired off a single round as the target rose from the fire to return to her chopping.

The slug pierced her neck and tore clean through, ripping her jugular and beginning the process of a quick bleed out. She reached up to her throat but there was nothing she could do to avoid her imminent death. She coughed twice, falling to the ground and disturbing her makeshift table where she had been chopping the food for the cook pot. It flipped dramatically to spray its toppings into various directions onto the ground.

MacCready paused, watching, waiting for the slightest twitch or indication his victim had survived. It was rare, but not impossible. Several minutes passed. The fire crackled away, completely oblivious that its owner had perished. Something had landed into its embers and was beginning to burn, intoxicating the air with a sweet, but charred, scent. He stood to his full height for the first time in hours and walked up the rest of the hill to the campsite.

MacCready rolled the body over with his foot and let out a gasp before he could help himself. If he didn’t know better, he had just assassinated Magnolia herself, only in grubby wastelander clothing and dirty skin. The woman’s features were identical to the lounge singer all the way in Goodneighbor, and he was suddenly reminded of her singing voice, as well.

Something had happened, here, and he’d been roped into it as an ignorant outsider. He ducked and began to search the woman for weapons, ammo, anything that would identify her as capable, let alone a threat to Magnolia or the wasteland at large.

He found a small handful of caps, random keys, a holotape, and a folded piece of paper. MacCready opened it near the fire to reveal a hand-drawn poster advertising The Magnificent Magnolia, One Night Only, Cover Charge Includes One Free Drink! for some date years prior and in some bar he’d never heard of.

 _This wasn’t just some copycat. It was a…twin? The wasteland’s version of sibling rivalry?_ The gears churned in his head, but he couldn’t understand, no matter what.

Regardless, he was certain he’d completed the job. He pocketed the poster and looked around once more. Satisfied he was alone, he made his way towards the nearest structure, the trailer. Some barrels painted yellow and white with the biohazard, radioactive symbol were stacked next to it. He decided against approaching it further and instead wandered towards the next nearest building, a ruined cabin. It was missing a forth wall, but it seemed that his target has used it as a place to rest. Piecemeal possessions were strewn about, such as spent clothing and empty food and drink containers, and a rumpled sleeping bag on top of a collapsed bed frame and mattress.

MacCready wasn’t about to be picky. He pulled up a chair, whipped out some jerky, and started chewing, looking out into the night sky. _I’m one step closer now, Duncan._

He slept poorly. MacCready’s subconscious could hardly wait for sunrise, so much so he considered striking out before dawn, just to quell his anxiety. Nevertheless, he forced himself to wait for sunrise proper, smoking far too many cigarettes in the waiting process. In the daylight he re-assessed the setting. Finding nothing newly interesting on the body of his target, he counted through all his ammo once more and made towards the hours-long journey back to Goodneighbor. The weather was clear, but uncomfortably windy. He found himself ducking and holding his hat more often than not, which meant he wasn’t paying as much explicit attention to his surroundings. It made him nervous, but he pressed on. The waterfront edge of Cambridge was as clear as on his way through the first time, and while he assumed it would have remained as such within twenty-four hours, he tried his best to stay on his guard.

Before he knew it, he was pushing the gate to Goodneighbor shut and catching his breath. The settlement was mostly a safe haven. The trick was to earn some clout, by word spreading he had done a job for Magnolia.

MacCready hit the landing of the stairwell into The Third Rail and saw Magnolia had begun her set for that night on stage. He gave her a slight wave with a couple fingers and ordered a beer, then retreated drink-in-hand to the VIP area of the bar.

He felt very calm. The atmosphere of the Rail was exactly the same as always: dank, neon-lit, and chem-addled. MacCready lit one of his last six cigarettes and closed his eyes as he relished the taste and sensation of the tobacco entering his lungs.

Eventually, Magnolia finished her set and stepped off her stage for a break. Within moments she was standing in front of him. She seemed expectant. Her skin appeared clammy and she popped a hip while she stared him down, but her anxiety was not missed by MacCready. Nevertheless, he waited until she spoke. He was a bit of a brat, that way.

“I want to _assume_ you have good news?” she eventually purred, with a tendril of shrillness.

“Relax,” he responded, holding out his depleted pack of cigarettes. Magnolia eyed it nervously, then accepted. MacCready held out his lighter so she could light up. She sighed in her exhale, the tobacco a panacea to her anxiety. MacCready could relate to that, though he’d never admit it.

“My God,” she tittered, waving the cigarette in the air before taking an additional puff, “you really did it, didn’t you?”

“They’ll never bother you, or anyone, ever again,” he agreed casually, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth. MacCready leaned into the back of his chair and waved, offhandedly. “It was a _little_ weird that the target looked exactly like you. Plus, she was carrying this.” He reached into his duster and pulled out the faded, old, handwritten poster, and offered it to Magnolia.

The lounge singer took it and opened it very delicately. MacCready followed her eyes as she read down the page. Magnolia seemed to blush slightly as the page trembled in both hands. She muttered something crude.

“What was that?” MacCready pressed, ever the brat.

“None of your business, hon,” Magnolia cooed firmly, resuming her composure. “You have my thanks, MacCready. Between what you did and, mm, bringing me this poster, you have completely legitimized my existence and eliminated any question regarding an imposter. Words, let alone caps, could never repay you for that.”

MacCready rolled his eyes. “I’m not some charity worker, Magnolia,” he groaned. “Whatever was between you and this…other singer, is no business of mine.”

“Of course,” Magnolia purred. She folded the poster once again and tucked it into her bra. “For what it’s worth, Goodneighbor could use a hot shot like you. Many folks have some personal troubles that they would gladly pay for a third party resolution.”

“Hey,” Mac began, spreading his hands, “as long as they have caps up front, they can consider the job done. Always.”

The plan had worked. For the next few months, work was steady, and MacCready had earned a reputation he’d be willing to brag about. The Neighborhood Watch began to describe him as “bad attitude, good aim” and it suited him just fine. He wasn’t some sweet, bleeding heart type, after all. The caps were steady, and his cigarettes never ran out. Goodneighbor attracted all kinds, including down-on-their-luck adventurers who were short of caps and out of time. MacCready found himself chumming up to a bloke called Sinclair, on his way back to, well, wherever he said he was from. The man’s late partner had a disease that sounded exactly like what plagued Duncan. Sinclair et al had managed to break into Med-Tek Research, even secured the codes to get into the labs below, but between the ferals and the disease, the cure was just not meant to be procured. MacCready offered everything he had for the codes, but for Sinclair, the items were useless, and he traded them for a beer and a couple cigarettes.

MacCready hoarded the information but was forced to rest upon his laurels. The pre-war ruin, in itself, wasn’t what worried him, it was the fact it was crawling with ferals, dark, and ultimately, the codes were untested. The last thing he wanted was to die in a last stand, clutching a password rejected by an ancient security system, to be ripped apart by mindless husks of humans.

No. He had to wait. If he could find that one person, that one, _right_ person, who would take _his_ commission rather than the other way around…

About six months later, he had banked a couple thousand caps and the work was steady. He had all but taken up a permanent residency in the VIP room of the Rail. He didn’t need to advertise; word of mouth spread quickly enough that all he had to do was crack open a fresh beer and soon a new client would crawl into his presence, clutching their hat, asking for his services. More than a few of them expressed surprise at his slight frame and stature, but their ignorance meant little if they could pay up.

Late one night, two months later, MacCready had kicked back in the VIP lounge with a beer, some snacks, and another fresh pack of cigarettes bought off of Magnolia. He had no idea where she had procured such amazing product, but refused to care. Did they light up like any other cigarette? Yes? Then case: closed. He had just taken a swig of beer and allowed himself to daydream for a second about finally being able to hire some help to crack into Med-Tek, once and for all, when his presence was shadowed by a couple of scoundrels.

“You thought you were _so_ smart, eh, MacCready?” teased Barnes, twirling his pistol on his index finger. “You thought you could just run freelance, and we wouldn’t care? We wouldn’t notice?”

“The wasteland’s a big, bad place, boys,” drawled MacCready, leaning back in his chair and spreading his hands. “I tied off my ends with the Gunners fair and square. I have full right to take any jobs the wastelanders wanna pay for, and that’s that.”

“Dipshit,” spat Winlock, “that ain’t how it works. The Commonwealth belongs to the Gunners, see? Any job you take is a slight against the organization, and you know it.”

“You talk a big talk,” MacCready began, waving casually while feeling as though he could puke at any moment, “but I’m telling you, getting rid of me won’t solve your problems. There are dozens of freelance guns for hire out here. You’re telling me you’re gonna go and gun them all down? Really? And, for what? If the Gunners were really as good at what they do as they say they are, why are they so worried about competition?” MacCready took a hefty drink of his beer and waited for the response.

Winlock and Barnes exchanged a look. Neither seemed prepared for the logic MacCready had presented to them. Finally, Winlock spoke. “Listen, you piece of shit, you’re tip-toeing on a very delicate line and you know it. There ain’t a lot of options in the Commonwealth because the Gunners are the best, hands down. You need to stop taking business away from us or there are gonna be…” He cleared his throat, glanced at Barnes, then continued. “Gonna be _fatal_ consequences, right?”

MacCready idly lit a cigarette, taking a good couple of puffs before replying. “Am I supposed to be scared?"

Barnes stomped his foot in a comical, childish gesture. “You _should_ be scared, idiot! You could have an entire battalion of Gunners on your ass!”

“So, bring them on! What have you really got on me, Barnes?” MacCready almost laughed. “Would the Gunners waste both people and ammunition on one little ol’ ‘rogue’ merc like me?” MacCready made sure to raise his hands to make the hash quotes in the air. “Don’t you have a better way to spend your time? Magnolia is wonderful, by the way, have you heard her sing?”

“Shut up,” Winlock growled. “You’re not gonna talk your way out of this.”

“Out of what?” MacCready pressed, standing to his full height. He was easily head and shoulders shorter than both the men in front of him, but what he lacked in stature he more than made up for in confidence and heart. “I don’t owe a thing to the Gunners, and you know it. The Commonwealth’s a huge place and the Gunner’s can’t just go around deciding they own it all because they ‘say so.’ Now, I’d suggest you both take off, before you give me and the rest of the town a reason to run you out.”

Winlock and Barnes exchanged another look. Barnes seemed to be in charge and nodded for Winlock to withdraw. He turned to address MacCready. “This ain’t over, _tiny_ ,” he growled.

“Oooh, I’m pissing my pants,” MacCready replied sarcastically, quivering and waving his hands. The two Gunners clamped their mouths shut and left, without another word. He waited until they had fully retreated before flopping back into his chair, letting out a deep sigh.

“Excuse me?” peeped a small voice from the doorway. MacCready all but startled at the sound. He sat up straight and looked to its source and bit his tongue, hard, to keep from laughing out loud. Looking into the room was a figure smaller than he, clad in a genuine Vault suit, with beautiful, shiny hair and skin he’d never seen before in his life.

 _And where the hell did you come from, angel?_ His heart rate had jumped. MacCready made to seem like he was being bothered. “What do you want?” he grunted.

The woman tiptoed into the room, glancing around but soon refocusing her attention on MacCready. “I, uh…well, the, hm, _people_ out there, they…they said you were a mercenary? A gun for hire?”

MacCready had the Vault Dweller’s number within five seconds. Skin so pure, it was glowing. Timid demeanour, unsure, but ready to retreat within a moment’s idea of a threat. “Yeah, I’m MacCready,” he confirmed with a slight smirk.

She rolled her shoulders back in some demonstration of confidence. The woman tilted her head up to look him in the eyes. “Opal,” she replied, by way of introduction. She even reached out her hand for a shake. MacCready took it and shook, trying very hard not to laugh at that point.

“Nice to meet you,” MacCready said, dropping her hand and puffing on his cigarette. “Now, why exactly were the barflies telling _you_ to look for a mercenary?” _As if I don’t already know._

Opal cleared her throat and put her hands on her hips. She seemed to carry nothing more than a knapsack and a hip canteen. She wore what appeared to be a weighted leather glove on her right hand.

_Melee, huh? Now, that’s guts._

“There’s some _things_ I’ve been asked to get done,” Opal began, “and they’re not nearby. On top of that, to get from here to there is…not easy, for one person.”

“You’re weak and vulnerable. I get it,” MacCready agreed, nodding his head and waving his cigarette as if he’d heard it dozens and dozens of times before.

Opal’s demeanour clouded. “I didn’t say that.”

“You meant it,” MacCready fluffed off with a smirk on his face. It was too easy to poke fun at the Vault Dweller, naive and fresh to the disaster that was the real world. “Listen,” he continued, hoping to end their interaction as quickly as possible for both their sakes, “my rate is two hundred and fifty caps, up front. If you can pay, you have me and my gun behind you, no matter what kind of _business_ you need to get done. If you can’t, well,” he gestured behind her, “you know where to go.”

Opal dumbly followed his finger to the door, then turned around, her face flushed in her embarrassment. “I can pay,” she squeaked.

“Then, that’s all you needed to say.” MacCready stretched his hand out towards her as he waited for Opal to fumble with the caps purse tied to her belt. Eventually, she had freed it from its bindings and plopped it into his hand.

“You better be as good as everyone says,” she muttered, swiping some hair off her face.

“I’m _the best_ ,” came the easy response. “I’ll meet you at the gate in the morning, and you tell us where we’re going.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Oh. Well…okay, then.” Opal glanced around the room once more, before taking her leave.

MacCready felt like he’d never made money easier in his entire life.


End file.
